Chalk

For the rest of the session, I made sure to stare stubbornly at the wall.

Finally, after an awkward eternity, the clock on the far wall struck four pm and Mr. Clark cleared his throat. "Lower your supplies, please," he intoned, and a rustle of activity followed as all of the students replaced their drawing instruments. The man with the green eyes did so with a little more reluctance than the rest. I wondered how long we could have stayed like that, teasing one another, and I felt a grim smile tug at my lips when he stayed seated for a little longer than the rest of the class. Maybe his excitement wasn't so easy to hide after all. Good.

Stretching, I retrieved my robe and donned it quickly, trying to ignore the faint wet spot that stained the orange fabric on the chair. Once I had pranced down from my perch on the platform, Mr. Clark gave me a weak smile. It was in that moment that I knew that he knew. I would have been utterly mortified if I hadn't felt so damn amazing.

"Thank you, Lila," he said, and the rest of the class echoed his words. Thank you, Lila. An insincere chant. I flashed a brief, sheepish grin to the rest of the class, then scuttled towards the back room for my clothes. I couldn't wait to be locked firmly back into the security of my t shirt, shoes and jeans. Now that I was upright, moisture was beginning to trickle between my legs and slicked my thighs together with each agonizing step.

When I finally returned, the class had filed out. All that was left was Mr. Clark, who gave me one last grateful look as I passed through the doorway and into the hall. I hoped I hadn't embarrassed him. I probably had.

I needed a cigarette.

I knelt down and rooted furiously through the depths of my purse, and I knitted my brow in frustration when my search proved fruitless. I must have left them at home. An approaching figure cast a shadow over me in passing and paused, and when I glanced up, I felt my eyes widen to roughly the size of small planets.

Up close, I could see little imperfections here and there. There was a scratcher tattoo on his arm, concealed beyond recognition by the drape of his sleeve, and the bow of his upper lip was marred by a thin chip of a scar. His lankiness was a little more prominent now that he was standing in front of me. Those long fingers were clutching a pair of cigarettes, and in his left hand, he gripped the handle to his toolbox.

"Need one?" he asked softly. He looked just as nervous as I did, but I caught a hint of slyness in those green eyes. Furtiveness. Like we had gotten away with something awful together.

"...I don't think you're supposed to talk to me," I said, and, after a moment's pause, he leaned in a bit closer.

"I don't think you're supposed to watch me," he whispered. I felt myself flush maroon.

"That's fair," I muttered, and I took one of the cigarettes with a fleeting look of gratitude. Then, I slung my purse over my shoulder and kept my eyes trained carefully on the floor as we walked down the hallway. The silence between us was palpable and terribly uncomfortable, and by the time we made it outside, I had spent about five straight minutes pretending to fish around my purse for my lighter.

"Let me buy you a drink," he said suddenly, and I paused in the middle of flicking my lighter to stare at him in disbelief. The roar of traffic was a welcome change from the sterile silence of the Arts building, and I busied myself with lighting my cigarette to give myself time to put a proper string of words together.

"Why?" I finally replied, my words muffled around the filter.

He shrugged, and a wide grin crept across his face. "If you're half as much fun to talk to as you are to draw, I think we could get along really well." He inclined his head curiously. "I'm Joey," he added.

"Lila."

"I know."

"Right." I took a deep pull of my cigarette, and he leaned on the stair railing next to me to light his. The tension was starting to ease from my shoulders, and when he glanced back up at me, I saw that the smile still hadn't left his lips. I couldn't help it. I returned his smirk. "I think you sort of owe me a drink at this point," I murmured.